Nocturnal Conjunction

The lights are off

Curtains drawn

Except one window,

Five stories up.

 

Silhouetted in it

A man, hands in pockets.

The hotel room behind

Exposed by the light.

 

Watching cars below

On the overpass.

Post-midnight traffic

Rushing home to roost.

 

Contemplating his past

Or his future, perhaps

His children, or

Missing his wife.

 

I’m tempted to toot my horn

Or flash my lights

But he’s gone…passed by

Now, only a memory.

 

 

                                                     Phil Breidenbach